


Raveling the Cloth of What We Are

by maryjo24



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Rape/Non-con References, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:59:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryjo24/pseuds/maryjo24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen Ackles had found his way out of a horrific nightmare, and found the love of his life, Jared Padalecki, in the unlikeliest of ways. It should have been a relationship doomed from the start, Jensen had mental and emotional landmines planted by 20 years of abuse and Jared had his own emotional scars from their "How We Met" story, but they were making it work. Then Jensen’s past give rise to a new threat to their futures and their happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raveling the Cloth of What We Are

[ ](http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/359/1902)

The boy had been playing with friends, but it became late, so they said their goodbyes, and headed separate ways for home. He didn’t hear the feet that came from behind, nor did the waning sun behind him provide a hint of a warning shadow. He had no inkling of what he was about to lose until arms of steel wrapped around his body, pinning his arms to his sides, and the damp cloth pressed against his face forced him into oblivion.

For a long time, as the boy grew into manhood, and then older still, he knew little more than pain and shame and fear. No one spoke to him or with him, only at him. He was never allowed to talk himself, and the collar that delivered a scourging shock any time he tried reinforced the command. His most basic needs were provided for but not much else as over time they stripped his humanity from his psyche as methodically as they stripped his clothes from him that first day.

He never knew then how desperately he was searched for or of the anguish of his family. He didn’t know that it was months before his mother slept through the night as she was woken from nightmares of what had happened to her baby boy. At her most hopeful, she prayed that some childless couple had taken her beautiful boy in and raised him with love. In darker moments, at her most realistic, she knew that something far worse had happened and the guilt she felt when she hoped that her boy had met a quick and painless end nearly destroyed her. But sadly, even her worst nightmares couldn’t imagine the horror, abuse, and atrocities that her boy suffered. 

It would take nearly two decades, but the boy long grown to manhood, would be rescued, strangely because of another kidnapping, this time of a boy himself not long in his adult years. Somehow, they both survived and beyond their experiences, found friendship and eventually love with each other. Their way had not been along an easy path, nor would it always be straight and free of obstacles.

[ ](http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/359/2080)

_He strained against his bonds, leather ties that bound his wrists to their corresponding ankles, and a short length of chain linked to the collar around his neck and hooked to the thick U-shaped iron bar, embedded in the dirt floor. Frantically, he looked around the pit, blessedly empty for the moment but he could hear the laughter and murmurs of conversations from the gallery above. He blushed in shame, knowing that in this position, naked, every private part of himself was exposed to their gaze._

_Then he could hear it – no, him – scrambling and growling from the tunnel that connected the pit with the cages. He’d seen the creature led from his cage before, long poles with rope harnesses at the end looped around his neck. Crops would lash his body as he fought against them, at once punishing his resistance and ratcheting up his frenzy. He’d seen him dragged back from the pit, restrained the same way, but bloodied and if even possible, more wild and out of control. He’d seen it before, only from the other side of the gate. Now, the creature was coming for him._

_He trembled, wanting to scream but knowing that the shock would be near unbearable. As the growl morphed into a sound that had no business coming from a human throat, he turned terrified eyes towards the tunnel entrance, and there it was. The keepers had been particularly vicious with the crops, and blood oozed from numerous slashes along his torso, thighs, and arms – blood that splashed the ground and flung about in the air from the frenzied movements of the creature. As it entered the arena, the harnesses were released, the poles frantically pulled back and an iron gate swiftly blocked the tunnel entrance. Attracted by the clang, the creature swiftly turned and attacked the barrier, it howled in frustration as it latched onto the bars, and God help him, Jared couldn’t help the loud moan that passed his lips._

_As the creature flung his ghastly gaze back to where Jared waited in supplicant sacrifice, Jared moaned again as he lost control of his bladder, horror overtaking any remaining sense of pride. The creature’s lips turned back in a hideous parody of a smile as he sniffed the air, and then crouching ever so slightly, he launched across the pit. Jared tried to twist away from the rampage but trussed as he was to the bar, he had nowhere to go. As the jagged nails scraped up his side, he whimpered, waiting for those teeth he’d seen dripping with blood in the past to rip into his throat. He nearly wept in relief as the jaw that clamped down on his shoulder, loosened, and the next sensations across his neck were wet and warm. The creature must be licking him…_

The morning light was just filtering through the window as Jared startled awake. The tickling sensations that pulled him from his nightmarish dream were becoming more insistent. As he reached back to slap away the annoyance, his arm was grabbed and forcefully pulled above his head to join the other.

“C’mon J, wanna sleep.” Jared whined and tried to squirm away from the weight of full-grown man pressing down on his back.

A stinging slap to his ass stifled his protest, weak though it was, and Jensen was there, whispering in his ear.

“Keep ‘em there.” The words rolled out low and rough like gravel, and Jared just managed to keep a whimper from spilling from his mouth as his cock twitched in anticipation.

The weight lifted, and then his legs were pushed under his hips and spread wide by one hand as his hole was perfunctorily stretched with the other. With no further warning, Jensen lined up and pushed forward with a growl. Jared yelped, more in surprise than from the pain of entry as his hands stopped his head from slamming into the wall. For a moment Jensen stilled, waiting for Jared to quiet and then he was rutting ruthlessly towards his release. Over the months they’d been together, Jared had taught Jensen well and it didn’t take long before he had the angle right and was grazing Jared’s prostrate on nearly every thrust. Jared whimpered as his cock was subjected to similarly rough treatment, Jensen reaching below to squeeze and stroke rapidly, his callouses like sandpaper until enough pre-cum dribbled out to smooth the way. It seemed as if no time had passed before Jared responded to the harsh stimuli from above and from below, and bucked up as his cock erupted in a steady stream onto the bedding below. He bucked again as Jensen bit into his shoulder with one final thrust and then stilled, buried deep, as his own cock released within the clenching channel.

Before long, the sweat between their bodies dried to an uncomfortable stickiness and Jared elbowed Jensen as he rolled away from the cooling spot on the sheets.

“Okay, I said I was sorry last night. I wasn’t flirting and seriously dude, I got two back-to-back meetings this morning – did you have to go all growly and possessive on my ass?”

“Wasn’t mad, just horny,” Jensen’s self-satisfied sigh of contentment belying his words. Jensen’s tongue soothed the spot where he’d bit as he snuggled closer along the line of Jared’s spine.

“Eew, gross!” Jared shrugged his shoulder away from the lapping tongue, twisting against the arms of iron that held him fast. But still he settled in the embrace, savoring the love that Jensen couldn’t vocalize but every touch radiated.

They’d come a long way from their first torturous month together when they were both prisoners of JD Morgan. Jared still woke up screaming on occasion, the memories of his kidnapping bleeding into his dreams, and he’d had only a month of Morgan and his crew’s tender mercies. Jensen was only a child when he was snatched off the streets by the vicious slaver, and after nearly a lifetime of inhumane abuse and horrific experiences, Jared was still in wonder at how far Jensen had come from the feral Mutt that Morgan had nurtured and encouraged. So when Jensen decided to let loose the Alpha instinct that was so much a part of his psyche, Jared was more than happy to let him. And he felt no shame in admitting that he kind of liked it.

But as the sun continued to rise, Jared lifted Jensen’s hand, kissing it as he murmured it was time to get up. With a last tender kiss to his neck, Jared was released as Jensen rolled to his back and stretched.

“So, appointment with Ferris today?”

The question was answered with a grunt, Jensen-speak for the affirmative. Ferris was Jensen’s therapist, and his weekly sessions were a condition of his parole. Jared still considered it a gross miscarriage of justice that after everything he’d been through, Jensen would always have a criminal record. After all, it wasn’t really his fault but that flood had cascaded months ago, destroying that bridge.

So for now it stood, and there were still times when even Jared had doubts as to how rehabilitated Jensen really was. A caged wolf among sheep, that with the right trigger would push him back into Mutt’s mindset. Last night, it was a near thing, an awkward grab by an intoxicated patron crowding too close to Jared at the bar, and Jensen nearly blew up to the invasion of his territory. Luckily, Chris quickly recognized the signs and managed to distract Jensen while Jared just as quickly extricated himself from the drunk man’s grasp. If he didn’t know what Jensen was capable of, he might have laughed at the pissed off glare, and he especially counted it a win that Jensen hadn’t whipped it out then and there, and marked him from head to toe. 

“You should talk to her about last night.” He was careful to keep his tone neutral and non- judgmental.

“Whatever.” Jared snorted, that was Jensen’s new word of the month and when he said it, it could mean anything from _sure_ to _fuck off and die_. Jared decided to go with just another affirmative and after a quick kiss to Jensen’s furrowed brow, rolled over the top of him and headed for the bathroom.

“I will, Jared.” Jensen promised quietly and Jared rewarded him with a bright smile as he looked back fondly.

[ ](http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/359/3085)

Jensen stormed into the apartment, slamming the door behind him. His ever-so-helpful teacher’s suggestion that he might want to think about pulling out of his current Literature class and either move to a “more remedial level or perhaps to classes that were more practical in nature” just added fuel to the smoldering fire of his pissed-off state. _Remedial_ wasn’t a word that he knew, but when he listened to it with the other words, he figured out that the teacher didn’t think he was smart enough for her class. _Practical_ was one that he kind of understood (sensible), but not the way the teacher used it. As the teacher went on about auto mechanics or food processing, he’s pretty sure he figured it out though.

He wasn’t stupid, although he realized that it was an easy assumption to make. He couldn’t put his thoughts into words like every other person could, he didn’t know a lot, like Jared did, but he was learning. And it was frustrating, Doc Ferris told him that he had to be patient, she had all sorts of psycho-babble explanations for how his brain was wired different, hadn’t really developed like it would have in a normal environment, and that things would come in time. But he was tired of working so hard to be like everyone else, and when his darkest moods hit him, he almost wished for simpler times, like at Morgan’s. As bad as it was, or at least as bad as they said it was, at least there he was good at something, and he didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing or doing something the wrong way.

But then, if he’d never been taken away from there, there wouldn’t be a Jensen-and-Jared, at least this way, and he likes it this way. And he wouldn’t have friends like Chris and he wouldn’t have his family back. It’s soothing as he thinks about Mom, how she smiles at him every time she sees him, like he made the sun come up that day. And a brother and a sister, once he’d gotten better at talking, they’d relaxed around him, laughed with him and told him stories from before. And he has a Dad, a real dad who tells him that he’s proud of him and what he’s doing, and not like the one that Morgan pretended to be, tossing a meaty bone to him saying he’d fought good and then beating him because he was never good enough.

Remembering before, at Morgan’s, brought flashes of things he’d rather not recall, of feelings that he was afraid to admit, so he tried to ground himself, rubbing his thumb along the etchings on the metal plate riveted to the leather bracelet he wore. The words echoed in his mind as he murmured them – J Ackles, not Mutt, Jensen, not Mutt, son, brother, fighter – and repeated until he maybe believed them once more. Now he just needed Jared to tell him, to repeat the words, it helped him believe because Jared believed enough for both of them.

As he laid his backpack on the table, he realized how quiet the apartment was. Jared was late, he should have been home first, but he wasn’t. He wondered if he’d forgotten some appointment of Jared’s and walked over to check the calendar on the refrigerator. He wasn’t used to worrying about being somewhere at a certain time, for years he didn’t make those decisions. They just dragged him back and forth, and he did what he needed to do to survive – eat , sleep, fight – basic instincts reacting to wherever they took him. But now he was free – so everyone kept telling him – and while he knew that with that freedom meant following the rules, like schedules and appointments, and behaving a certain way, another part of him railed against the restrictions, and didn’t like being told what-where-when to do or to go. Poor Jared got caught in the crossfire of that inner battle, not too long ago, when he’d nearly broken Jared’s nose, angry at the way Jared was riding him about his class schedule.

Jared had walked out of their apartment (actually Jared’s apartment since Jensen didn’t have anything of his own then) and Jensen figured he’d finally driven Jared away. A night alone, and he was nearly frantic when Jared walked back in like he’d just stepped out for coffee. He’d smiled and held out a white board. On the board was a grid of blocks and Jensen realized it was calendar. Jared had been excited as he pointed to the lines he’d already filled in for both his and Jensen’s classes, Jared’s intern hours, Jensen’s shifts at the bar, and Jensen’s appointments with Ferris. Jared’s face had clouded and his enthusiasm dimmed when Jensen had snarked back that as long as he remembered what day it was, it would work; so Jensen quickly grabbed the marker and scratched through the days already past, explaining that they could do this to keep on track and sighed in relief when that smile he loved to see returned.

Double-checking the day, Jensen confirmed, noting the crossed out blocks before it, that nothing else was listed until evening. Jared kept the calendar up, to the point of obsession and Jensen often teased him about it, that Jared may be the one that needed a psychiatrist. But Jensen knew that Jared did it for him, and Jared knew that Jensen knew, and kept filling in every box with something. This afternoon, there’s nothing listed after his literature class and Jared would have completed his intern hours in the morning with his afternoon free. They should have been able to spend a few hours before Jensen had to show up for his shift at the bar and Jared, his night class.

Not for the first time since his rescue, he wondered what the right way to feel was; should he be worried that Jared wasn’t home because he might be hurt, or should he be angry that Jared wasn’t home and had gone somewhere else without telling him? As Jensen gnawed on those thoughts, he was startled by his phone’s ring tone. He could kick himself, he should have checked that sooner as Jared had probably left him a message, and was calling him now. Relieved, he pulled the phone out of his backpack’s pocket and answered quickly without looking at the display.

“Jared?”

 _Is this Jensen, Jensen Ackles?_

“Yeah, this is him, who’s this?”

_You don’t know me, but you might say I’m a fan._

“What?”

_I know this will probably be a bit complicated for you to grasp, so let’s cut the chit chat and get straight to the point. Go turn on your TV, there’s a DVD already loaded, so hit Play, you do know how to do that, don’t you?_

“Who’s this, what’s going on –”

_Quiet! Do as you’re told, Mutt. Now!_

Jensen’s gut clenched at the man’s use of that name, that tone, and his body unconsciously turned and started towards the TV in response to the command, before Jensen stopped himself and took a deep breath. That wasn’t him anymore, he wasn’t Mutt – son – brother – fighter – not Mutt, and he didn’t have to obey just because some asshole on the phone said so.

“I’m asking again, who is this and what do you want?” Jensen demanded, this time choosing, as he purposefully walked over to the TV.

 _Oh, I’m sorry, I imagine you’ve learned some manners, so let me rephrase. Please do as I’ve requested. Believe me, you don’t want to try my patience._ The man’s voice oozed over the line as Jensen fought the bile rising up his throat. This man knew who he was, the things he’d done, and nothing good could come of that.

Jensen turned on the TV and an audience’s laughter filled the silence. Bending down, he pushed the button on the player and stood back to watch whatever was loaded. The TV went dark, and the apartment was suddenly silent before subdued lighting revealed bare cement walls. As the camera’s view pointed downwards and panned back, Jensen gasped, whispering his lover’s name as he recognized Jared lying on the ground. Jared’s eyes were closed and he wasn’t moving, but the plastic ties securing his wrists behind his back gave Jensen hope that Jared was only unconscious. A low chuckle brought his attention back to the phone still pressed against his ear. 

_I trust I have your full attention now?_

“Yeah, what have you done to Jared?”

 _Don’t worry, Pup, he’s fine. And he’ll continue to be fine, as long as you follow my instructions. Do you understand?_ The man continued, not bothering to wait for a response, confirming the sinking feeling that Jensen sensed, that nothing he thought or had to say mattered anymore. _Momentarily, you will have company, you _will_ let them in and you _will_ obey them._

And as if on cue, there was a firm knock on the door. Jensen stared as the knock rapped again, more insistent. It wasn’t fair, he was free, he had school and a job, he had Jared – no, no Jared, not right now. The knock thundered a third time, and he heard the slimy voice again.

_Answer the door! If you don’t, Jared will suffer._

“I’m going, I’m going, just don’t hurt Jared” 

Quickly he rushed to the door, and flung it open. Three men pushed in through the doorway, all big, burly, and mean looking. In different circumstances, where Jared’s life wasn’t the trade-off, he might have fought back. As was, he stood unresisting as one of the men grabbed the phone from his hand and put it to his ear.

“Sir, we’re in.”

The man stared at Jensen, his glare daring him to try anything as he listened to the man on the other end.

“No sir, he’s behaving. Gerard and I’ll bring him out, should be there in a couple hours.”

A second man, must be Gerard, moved to his side, one of the rare taller ones, he towered over Jared, a grin on his face that was anything but friendly. Talking Guy spoke again.

“Yes sir, Michael understands what to do.”

Talking Guy snapped the phone closed and slipped it into his pocket as he nodded at the third man, who must be Michael, who nodded back and moved towards the bedroom. Jensen stood quiet and obedient as the man’s attention turned back to him. This was familiar, he could do this, bide his time, and maybe figure out something. 

“Hold your hands out.”

Jensen complied and a plastic zip-tie snugged them together. His jacket was thrown over his wrists as he was pushed towards the front door. He started as he heard glass breaking in the bedroom.

“What was that?”

Talking Guy shook his head as Gerard slapped a bruise on Jensen’s shoulder. 

“Don’t worry about it. Just keep being a good boy, makes it easier for all of us, and your friend might just make it out of this alive.”

 

He let the two men lead him out of the apartment, hands clasped in front, his jacket hiding the fact that anything was out of the ordinary. Once they reached the silver SUV parked at the curb, the rear door was opened for him, as if he were an honored guest only to have the illusion shattered as he was shoved face first into the seat. A sharp jab on his neck, then he was shoved over and allowed to sit up. As he felt his mind fog up, he turned to watch the only place that he could recall feeling safe and loved in years fade in the distance. And that’s when he realized – Talking Guy had used names and Jensen had seen their faces, Slimy Voice had called him Mutt and said he was a fan – he wasn’t going to make it out of this. These were the same kind of men, cut from the same cloth as Morgan, and they expected him to do what he was good at, and if he didn’t obey, then Jared may pay the price.

[ ](http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/359/3085)

Jensen jolted back to consciousness as the vehicle hit a pothole. Glancing out the window, he saw nothing but scrub grass and shrubs on either side of the unpaved road.

“Looks like Sleeping Beauty’s awake,” Gerard drawled as Jensen met his eyes in the rear view mirror.

“Take a good look around, Mutt, probably the last you see of the wide open prairie for a long time.” The man snickered as Jensen glared at him.

“Ah, puppy thinks he can scare me with those Bambi eyes. You sure the boss is right about him? He don’t look like any kind of killin’ machine to me, more like one of those pretty boy model types, kinda hard to believe the rep. Seriously, his boyfriend looks more the part.”

“Shut up, Jerry, kid could probably take you down, both hands tied behind his back. I’ve seen him in action, not sure it’s something I care to see again.”

“If you say so. Guess I’ll have to wangle for your spot on the boss’ detail so I can see for myself.”

Jerry-Gerard turned his attention back the road and then made a hard turn onto a narrow access path. Neither man spoke as they continued up the dirt road, bouncing up over a rise in the terrain and onto pavement. Signs of habitation became apparent as the road widened and trees lined either side. Eventually, they passed under a large wrought iron overhang, “HEYERDAHL” gracing the arc above in ornate, gothic letters. As the overhang disappeared behind them, Jensen saw another nail pounded home. He now knew the name of the man who had kidnapped him and Jared.

A snappy swerve around a bend in the road and they were pulling up a wide circular driveway in front of a huge mansion. Several smaller buildings – barns, sheds, houses – dotted the acreage surrounding the huge structure, obviously the hub of activities of a large working ranch. Further out, fences gated in expansive fields where cattle and horses grazed. If it weren’t for the reason he’d been brought here, Jensen thought it might be a peaceful setting to spend time in. Maybe someday, he and Jared could – but then reality reared its ugly head – and he wondered if he would ever see Jared again. If he could figure out where he was, if he could break out of whatever cage they threw him in, if he could find out where they were keeping Jared, if he could travel enough distance before they realized he was gone… A lot of ifs, and he was screwed to Hell and back.

His contemplation was broken when the door pulled open and he was yanked harshly from the car by Talking Guy’s hard grip on his arm. The thin plastic dug into his wrists and his jacket dropped to the ground to be trampled by his scrambling feet. Instinctively, he pulled back only to be slapped across his face, his head whipping back to strike the hard metal of the car. He felt a trickle of blood down the side of his face as he struggled to gain his balance.

“Behave!”

The harsh command brooked no resistance and he snapped to obey, and then hung his head shamefully at his reaction. Shrugging his shoulders as if he could make it all go away, he rolled them forward and lowered his head, playing the role they expected of him and waiting for the next command. After a moment, Talking Guy turned Jensen’s head to look at the cut on his cheek and then back, pushing his chin up so they were looking eye-to-eye.

“You’re not fooling me, kid. You got two choices here, and nothing else. You do as you’re told and you and your friend live, or you don’t. Make that choice, and you die and your friend will wish he had. Simple, right? Even you should be able to figure out which is your best option here.”

“Hey, Ty! Boss wants you right away.”

Talking Guy – Ty – gave Jensen another hard look, and Jensen stared back at him defiantly as he snapped his head in a terse nod. Finally, Ty appeared satisfied and turned towards the door, dragging Jensen with him.

“Okay, Mutt, time to meet your new master.”

[ ](http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/359/4826)

“Mr. Olsson, thank you for bringing me my new pet.”

And finally, Mr. Slimy Voice made his appearance. Jensen had been rushed through the halls, just to be stood up in front of a large black lacquer desk to wait for what had seemed like hours. Only one chair was positioned on the company side of the desk, claimed by Ty who for the most part ignored him as he worked on his phone, typing out messages and making calls. Anytime Jensen shifted his weight or moved any part of his body, the man’s eyes would glance up, mouth twisted in disapproval, turning back to his work only when Jensen had stilled. With his boss now present, Ty Olsson quickly rose to his feet, slipping his phone away.

“No trouble, I presume?”

“No sir, nothing we couldn’t handle. Michael has checked in and everything’s taken care of at their apartment.”

“Very good.” The man had moved closer and Jensen turned towards him. Tall and thin, the man looked very much like what Jensen expected from his voice, almost snake-like. Piercing eyes languorously assessed Jensen, roving up and down as he walked around him. His lips twisted into a smile, but it didn’t put Jensen at ease, as if that would have been possible under the best of circumstances. Jensen felt as if the temperature had dropped by double digits as he sensed cruelty and evil radiating from the man. 

JD Morgan had been scary too with the power he held over everything Jensen had or did. Before the raid, Morgan got what he wanted. He – his power – was respected and feared. But Morgan had been like the good whiskey at the bar that Jensen sometimes took a shot of, warm and going down smooth-easy. But that warm, aren't I a great guy, teddy bear exterior hid a vicious streak. At least though, as long as Jensen did what he was supposed to, Morgan pretty much left him alone. Punishment was meted out only when he’d broken the rules. But this man was different - there was no teddy bear veneer to disguise the sadist that he clearly was. With this man, Jensen feared he’d take a piece out of him just because he felt like it, because he wanted to hear Jensen’s screams. His body tensed to high alert, not liking that he was so exposed to whatever whim the man might want to indulge on his unprotected flesh. 

“Very good, indeed.” Jensen fought to remain still, against the very instincts that were telling him to run as the man reached out to feel his arm, squeezing his bicep and his shoulder before walking again behind him to run a hand down Jensen’s back. 

“Still in good shape. A bit of training and I’m certain I’ll see a good return on my investment. Mr. Olsson, remove Mutt’s restraints, I think he understands the consequences if he tries anything.”

Jensen held out his hands at the request, and shivered as the hand prodded and squeezed a bit more before it was gone. Jensen let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as the older man moved away from him. Long, slender fingers reached up to trace the cut on his cheek.

“He got uppity right after we arrived,” Olsson offered in explanation.

“I tripped ‘cause you were an asshole,” Jensen snapped before he thought it through and winced as the tie viciously twisted into his flesh before it was cut. 

Heyerdahl chuckled as he strode over to his desk and sat down behind it, his fingers steepled under his chin. His eyes continued their assessment of Jensen much like he probably evaluates the steer that graze over his lands.

“Good, you still have some spirit. I don’t want a docile show pet. You’re here to fight for me, just as you did for Morgan. No limits, no rules, no holds barred.”

“Don’t do that no more.”

Heyerdahl laughed, “Sure you do, you ever want to see your pretty bitch again, you’ll do what I tell you. And I’ve seen you in action, what you did before, the way you were, you are, you want this. You may be housebroken, but you’ll always be a mutt.”

“S’not true, I have a job, I go to school –”

“And it’s such a waste of your true talents and potential. You’ve been drowning in the complexities of this new life they tried to force on you. I can help you find release from all that, a return to simpler times. You know that you’ve been missing something, and the fight, the violence, that’s it. Regardless though, you have no choice.”

Jensen rubbed his wrists, the grooves left by the plastic ties tingling as the blood flow returned. He didn’t want to acknowledge Heyerdahl’s observations or recognize the truth of what he said. What this man was saying, so close to his own confused thoughts of late, he didn’t want it to be true, he was trying to change but it was so difficult. Jared wouldn’t agree, but Jared wasn’t here, this man had Jared – would hurt Jared – Jensen had no choice. The only thing he could do now was to make sure that Jared remained safe.

“Jared?”

“I’ve entered you in a tournament, three matches in all; you must win each time to go on to the next. The last fight will be to the death. I expect you to win. In fact I know you will win. Your competition is good, skilled, but you have a vicious streak, a killer’s instinct that I know hasn’t been tamed out of you yet. When you do win the final bout, Jared will be released, relatively unharmed, able to move on with his life.”

“What about me?” Jensen couldn’t keep the tremor of lost hopes from the timid question.

Heyerdahl smiled slowly, but there was no comfort in the smile and his eyes were cold.

“You know the answer to that, don’t you, pet.” It was not a question and Jensen bowed his head in resignation.

“Mr. Olsson, please take pet to his quarters and show him his new toys. Pet, the first match is in a few days, I expect you to be in top form by then.”

[ ](http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/359/2532)

Jared groaned as he opened his eyes, relieved that there was practically no light to aggravate the throbbing headache he had. Gingerly, he rolled over on his back and looked around, wincing as even with the cautious movement, his headache intensified. Waiting until the ache stopped pulsing with each breath he took, he looked up at a low cement ceiling just a few feet above. A ridge of light bled into the room from a split where the ceiling met one of the walls of the small room. A metal door in that wall appeared to be the room’s only exit, but there was no handle on his side. Glancing around, he took in the rest of his surroundings. The wooden cot he was laying upon was pushed in one corner of the room, a couple of inches from the wall with the door and only a few feet from the opposing block wall. In the far corner sat a bucket, a roll of toilet paper, and a large plastic thermos.

“Fuck.” Jared twisted his legs over the edge of the cot as he sat up. The throbbing ache returned, pulsing rhythmically as the blood rushed with his movement. Panting as he caught his breath, he stumbled over to the thermos, hoping for water as he twisted the cap off and sighing as the cool fluid eased the dryness in his mouth. Immediate needs taken care of, he returned the few steps back to the cot, dropping with a thump. Leaning back against the wall, he took another sip as he tried to tamp down the panic that was rapidly building with each moment he was awake.

“HEY!! Anybody out there? Where the Hell am I!” He kicked the metal door a few times angrily, the loud clunking of his boots against the hard steel doing nothing for his headache.

Pushing off the cot, he paced the small confines, his panic increasing as he continued to yell until he was hoarse. There was no escape from the small room, and the only sounds he heard other than his own were the mechanical whirrings of a fan that echoed down through a small shaft in the ceiling. He tried shoving his hand up through the opening, but could feel nothing but a cold metal pipe.

He was trapped in this small room, and he didn’t know why or who or where. The last thing he remembered was leaving the school where he interned and walking to his car. Thinking harder, he remembered he had to squeeze by the black van parked too close as he’d slid past to his car door, and then the sound of a door sliding open, hands pulling him backwards, a sharp prick in his neck…

The panic attack manifested full force as he bent over and threw up. Just like before, when Morgan’s men took him, the cage, Jensen, and then the blood…

_The metal grating of the cage pressed against his bare knees and shins where he kneeled in the cage, barely large enough to contain his bulk. As he pressed against the side of the cage, trying to escape the man who’d reached in, a thick collar held open in his hands. He tried to twist away but had nowhere to go in the small confines of the cage, and the collar snapped into place, tight around his neck. He screamed, “STOP!” and then jolted as his body tried to twist away from the shocks that radiated from around his neck. The man laughed as he pulled his hands away and shoved the grated door closed. Cold metal pressed diamond-shaped grooves into his naked skin as he twitched against the aftershocks._

_“So now you know what happens if you don’t keep your mouth shut, right kid?” A padlock snapped into place, and he whimpered in fear. Off to one side, a low growl drew his attention. Twisting around, he nearly screamed before he remembered the collar at the sight of a naked man staring intently at him. Dark flakes of gore freckled his skin as the man grinned a hideous parody of a smile. Leaping onto the sides of the enclosure that separated him from the rest of the room and Jared, he grabbed onto its metal bars and howled. Jared squealed at the horrifying sound that erupted from the man’s throat and then jerked shock-still as the collar punished him._

As Jared crumpled to the ground, the door pushed open and he was pulled up and swung over to the cot. His head was pushed between his legs and he could hear the murmur of voices above where he sat gasping in terror. The murmurs quieted and he was allowed to sit up.

“Here, drink this.” 

A cup was pushed to his mouth and he grabbed it gratefully, swallowing the taste of bile away. He murmured his thanks before he remembered the circumstances and scrambled back on the cot, his shoulders pressed hard against the wall. Looking up, two men stood before him, big and light-skinned would be all he could describe, at least from what he could tell from their hands and how they were dressed similarly, jeans and long sleeved jackets covering their bodies, dark ski masks concealing their heads. In the dim lighting, he could make out only that their heads had eyes and mouths, but nothing more, like color or shape. He breathed a bit easier because if they were hiding their identities, maybe he’d be released at some point. Morgan’s men never hid behind masks. But then why had he been taken?

“Smile for the camera, pretty boy.” A gruff voice encouraged and Jared then noticed the phone held up in the man’s hand, the light from it a stark contrast to the darkness of the room. As he opened his mouth to ask what was going on, the man with the phone spoke.

“What day is it?”

“Um, Thursday?”

“And how have you been treated?”

“You’re kidding right?”

“Just answer the question, princess – anybody hurt or beaten you?”

“Well I don’t know, getting yanked off the street, drugged, and thrown into a tiny room with nothing but water and a bucket count as being hurt?” Jared’s mouth engaged before common sense overwrote it, and he mentally cringed in trepidation.

The man only laughed at the belligerent answer as he spoke, apparently for the benefit of the unseen audience.

“So as you can see, Smart-ass is fine, dinner will be served shortly before we tuck him in with soft blankets and bon-bons for the night.”

The phone slid shut and was tucked away as the men turned to leave the room. Before the door was pulled shut behind them, the man who had done all the talking turned back with a final warning.

“I know you’re wondering what’s going on, and really it’s best you don’t know. Behave yourself and you’ll be out of here and back in your own bed in a couple of weeks, none the worse for wear.”

The door clanged shut with a finality that did nothing to ease Jared’s racing heart.

[ ](http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/359/2705)

Jensen lay on the bed of the small, windowless room Olsson had locked him in, working through the events of the last few hours. He’d paid close attention, for what little good it did him, as he was led from Heyerdahl’s study to the back of the house and down a narrow flight of stairs into a large basement. The basement itself was secured from the rest of the house by a thick wooden door at the top of the staircase and unlocked only by the entry of a code on a keypad or the slide of an electronic card. In what little time he’d had to look around the basement, he’d seen no windows and no other doors. The only way in or out appeared to be that locked door.

The ‘toys’ Heyerdahl mentioned were actually expensive pieces of exercise equipment, weights, treadmills, and such, that the gym he and Chris frequented would be jealous of and were the first things that Olsson pointed out in the large open area as they descended. Talking at him like he should be excited by all the gleaming equipment, Olsson told him to get a good night’s rest and that he would be able to “play with his toys first thing in the morning.” The chortling laugh that followed that statement grated against already frayed nerves, and Jensen had to grab tight hold of his anger, didn’t want to lose control and pound the man into the ground. That wouldn’t do either he or Jared any good at the moment.

At the rear of the basement was his new home, accessed by an innocuous door set in the wall. Olsson pushed him through it with the promise of dinner at some vague point later in the evening before swinging the door shut behind him with a heavy _thunk_. Keypads on either side ensured that the door stay locked unless he could figure out the code or gain access to a key card, both of which were unlikely. The room itself was long and narrow, basically an extension of the basement itself, just walled off to be separate. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture, a narrow bed and a small two-drawer dresser next to it was all at one end. The other end of the room had a curtain stretched across it which pulled back to reveal a shower stall, sink, and toilet. All the comforts of home came sarcastically to Jensen’s mind.

A few days to the first fight, Heyerdahl had said. And then another, and then the last, one where he would have to kill, there was no other option. Nothing he hadn’t done before, just something he hasn’t done since he was _civilized_. The thought should bother him, he thought. And yet, once he got beyond the whole fucked-up’edness of the situation and the fear for Jared and the loss of what they had had for too short a time, he was excited and felt more alive than he’d felt for months. And that should probably scare him more than it did. He traced the words on his cuff, but they weren’t as grounding as they’d been in the past, and as he traced over FIGHTER, he couldn’t ignore the thrill of anticipation he felt. And then the guilt as he remembered Jared, Jared who definitely wouldn’t approve. But before he could sort further through the conflicting emotions he was feeling, the door was pushed open and Olsson entered. A paper bag that smelled heavenly was tossed at him.

“Here’s dinner as promised and a little incentive.” He pushed a few buttons and then turned the face of the phone towards Jensen. Jensen’s stomach clenched as he saw Jared framed in the small screen, tinny voices coming over the phone’s speakers.

 _Um, Thursday._ The tension in Jensen’s gut eased at Jared’s reply.

_And how have you been treated?_

_You’re kidding right?_ Jensen snorted at his lover’s sarcasm.

_Just answer the question, princess – anybody hurt or beaten you?_

_Well I don’t know, getting yanked off the street, drugged, and thrown into a tiny room with nothing but water and a bucket count as being hurt?_

Jensen glared at Olsson, who smirked and waggled the phone.

_So as you can see, Smart-ass is fine, dinner will be served shortly before we tuck him in with soft blankets and bon-bons for the night._

The picture winked out and Olsson slid the phone in his pocket.

“Didn’t want you to miss the best part, that Mike, he’s a funny guy. So there you go, your bitch is fine, dinner’s served, and I’ll be back in the morning for you. Sweet dreams, pet.”

The door cut off the man’s laughter as it closed in his wake.

The passage of time over the next few days was marked by an unchanging routine – breakfast, run, weights, practice spars, lunch, exercise, practice spars, dinner – but the end of the day was what kept Jensen going: his message from Jared. After the first one, Jared was always given a paper and asked to read the date and a paragraph from one of the articles. Olsson always brought the paper in with him as proof, pointing at the article Jared had read from. When he realized that Jensen could actually follow the words on the page as Jared read them, Olsson expressed surprise. And for the first time since the trip that had brought Jensen to the ranch, he seemed uncomfortable. After that, Jensen sensed a change in the man’s demeanor; his meals handed to him rather than tossed across the room, taunts were less frequent, and grudging praise at a well-placed hit more common.

[ ](http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/359/4826)

Jensen knew the time had come when Heyerdahl arrived in the basement in the middle of Jensen’s afternoon spar. It had been three days since he’d met the man, three days since he’d last seen him, and the creep factor was still off the charts. Heyerdahl stood, imposing, his pale face and hands in stark contrast to black slacks, turtleneck shirt, and silk jacket. His arms folded across his chest as one hand stroked his bearded chin. Jensen nearly stumbled, caught up in the gaze of cold, dead eyes watching his every move intently.

“He’s ready. Get him dressed and secured in the van. We'll be leaving soon.”

After a one final assessment, Heyerdahl nodded to himself and turned for the stairs leaving behind the two men that had accompanied him, Gerard and another man Jensen hadn't seen before. Jensen didn’t like the leering smirk on Gerard’s face and liked even less the look of what they had in their hands.

“Let’s get this show on the road, Fabio.” Gerard smiled as the other man laughed. “Don’t look like such hot stuff, do he?”

Jensen snarled, he was already feeling off-kilter between the adrenaline spiking his system from the last hour’s spar and Heyerdahl. He started backing away, recognizing the metal pole they had leaned against the wall. The other man had a leather muzzle in one hand, like the one Anthony Hopkins had worn in that creepy movie about the killer that ate people, and what looked like a pair of boxing gloves in the other.

Olsson stepped up, holding up his hand, his body almost a buffer between Jensen and the advancing men.

“Easy there, let’s not make this any harder than it has to be, kid – Gerard, back off. We don’t need this going cock-eyed.”

Jensen couldn’t stop moving backwards, his heart racing and his mind slowly closing off, as Gerard ignored Olsson and continued to move towards Jensen, lengths of leather and burlap flipped over his shoulder and a thick leather belt trailing chains clinking discordantly clutched in his fist. But Jensen had forgotten about his sparring partner and was belatedly reminded when the man’s thick arms suddenly wrapped around his chest and clasped tightly, making it hard to breathe. Enraged, he howled and twisted against the restraint. As it weakened, Jensen dropped and shoved an elbow into the man’s belly. A full twist around and then he brought his knee up, feeling smug as the other man doubled over. But too late Jensen remembered the other threats in the room. He’d barely turned back towards Gerard, and he was tackled to the ground. Olsson’s fist connected with his temple, a sharp jab to his solar plexus, and a final blow to his jaw and Jensen was unconscious.

[ ](http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/359/3085)

Everything was dark when awareness returned, and Jensen sucked in a deep breath of air, sweltering and stale. He felt the drape of cloth heavy on his shoulders and around his head, and an even more irritating material flush against his face. There was a murmur of voices off to his left, and the engine and road noise as well as the sense of motion confirmed that they were on the road. He wanted to move but something kept his head from shifting more than a few inches in any direction. His hands were fisted, sweaty, inside the gloves he had seen earlier and when he tried to lift them to push at the cloth that obscured his vision, they pulled up short from a belt around his waist. He was relieved to sense that he at least he was wearing pants, some sort of supple leather from the feel of it against his skin. But beyond that, he felt like some sort of prize steer, trussed up on his knees in the back of a van.

Before too much longer, the car jerked to a stop, doors opened and slammed shut, then nothing. He’d been left alone, with nothing but distant sounds as company. He recognized those sounds, more familiar to him then his mother’s voice or Jared’s laugh, these were the sounds of the pit – the jeers and taunts, the clapping of hands and stomping of feet, laughter and cheers – these he knew all too well. Son – Brother – Fighter – he repeated the words over and over, trying to keep Mutt at bay. So lost in his mantra, he missed hearing the door slide open, and when he felt hands pulling him forward, he balked, growling at the new threat.

“Whoa, calm down, kid!” Olsson’s voice was right there, calming, and Jensen felt the soothing touch of a hand stoking up and down his arm, shoulder to elbow and back. _Son – Brother – Fighter_

From the other side, breathy laughter rattled, too close. _Son – Brother – Fighter_

“Mr. Olsson, enough. This is exactly what I’m looking for. Get him out of there and the snare on him. The bout begins in fifteen and he needs to be in place by then, so walk him around a bit, get his blood moving.”

He felt something looping over his head and then pulled taut around his neck. Twisting, he tried to pull away and gagged as the snare tightened. _Son – Brother – Fighter_

Deft fingers worked at the belt on his waist and the gloves over his fists, and then cool brushes of air on the sweaty skin confirmed their removal. Jensen flexed his fingers, as suddenly the hood was gone, the burlap taking bits of skin from his neck as it tore free from the snare’s rope loop. The evening sun was still blinding after the hood-imposed darkness and Jensen blinked them rapidly as he took in his surroundings.

“Move it Mutt!” 

Jensen had barely recognized Morgan’s old compound before Gerard used the pole, jerked him forward, and forced him to start walking in tight circles. Memories flooded his brain as he struggled to maintain his balance against the indifferent drag of the pole and the betrayal of his body that just wanted to drop to his knees. He’d come so far only to be shoved right back to where he began.

_Red, red dripping in his eyes. His tongue lapping, tasting, red drips, warm, thick, good. Smell, raw, sweet, death. He howls, Master smiles, the man on the ground not moving anymore._

_“Good boy, Mutt, good boy."_

Jensen shook his head against the flashes of vivid sensations. He’d never returned here before and now tried to look at the compound as if from someone else’s eyes, trying to work the coping techniques Doc Ferris had taught him. It hadn’t changed much from what he remembered, the same dirt paths, rough wooden buildings, and metal sheds niched into the wide space carved out of the seemingly never ending forest rising up the mountainside. A soft breeze rustled the leaves and blew splashes of dust up to whorl around the compound. And front and center, the hub of it all, the huge arena, a large circular structure of concrete, tall where in the upper tiers the galleries provided prime viewing of the spectacles below. Jensen had once been one of those spectacles, and now that he had returned, would once again provide entertainment. Contradictory emotions fought for dominance, anger and fear, but also excitement and something else that felt a little like joy and home and comfort all wrapped up together. _Son – Brother – Fighter_

“It's almost time, let’s get him over – ”

Thundering claps and loud cheers from the arena muffled the end of Olsson’s sentence as they drew closer and Jensen hardly needed any direction, walking steadily towards the rear of the structure, then into the large building where he once lived, and finally through the tunnel that separated the holding pens from the arena. Still Gerard impatiently pushed him forward, and in the narrow corridor the skin of his arms suffering as Gerard’s clumsy handling of the long pole that caused Jensen to bang up against and drag along the corridor’s cement walls, leaving layers and streaks of red behind. When at last they’d reached the last barrier to arena, Jensen was wound up and exhilarated. He grabbed the vertical iron bars and pushed, snarled when they wouldn’t move. The roar from the galleries intensified. From somewhere, a command was issued and the gate released. 

Jensen shoved the gate open and stormed into the arena, nearly strangling himself before the rope was released from around his neck. _Son_. He stormed forward towards where his first opponent waited, taller than he and obviously no stranger to the fight, the noise of the crowd rose when they saw him. Laughter and taunts spilled from the gallery, one group, bawdier and louder, stood out from the rest. _Hey, Tommy, they got you fightin’ Hannibal Lector. Tear him apart, Dude. He’s a pansy, you got this one locked and loaded._ _Bro-_. The man before him smirked and dropped into some sort of kung fu attack pose, his fingers crooked like he thought he was Bruce Lee. “Anytime, Bitch.” Jensen howled and flew through the air. _FIGHTER_.

The fight was over before Jensen came back to himself. His opponent –Tommy – lay on the ground at his feet. He was broken - one arm twisted out at an awkward angle from his body and the other cradled to his chest, one kneecap was bloodied and split like a rotten tomato while the other leg scrabbled at the ground trying to push away from Jensen. Gouged, bloodied, bruised, the man blubbered as Jensen felt the snare tighten around his neck and pull him back. He didn’t resist as he stared at his fists, blood and gore staining them. He opened and closed them slowly. They ached. He felt bruises everywhere, and knew he’d be sore for days – maybe for the rest of his life. As Jensen was dragged into the tunnel, he looked one last time at Tommy, writhing and whimpering on the ground. The man’s eyes stared back, wide and filled with terror, and Jensen knew he should feel guilt and sorrow. That’s what society expected from him for what he just did. Yet he couldn’t swear that the only reason he felt any guilt and sorrow at all was because of the act itself or in knowing that it would make Jared sad to have seen what Jensen had done.

[ ](http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/359/4826)

Agent Misha Collins, ASAC (Assistant Special Agent in Charge) of his division, grunted a greeting as he answered his phone.

“Agent Collins?”

“Yes, and this is?”

“Samantha Ferris, I’m currently treating Jensen Ackles. I’m his psychiatrist – I don’t know if you remember him?”

“Of course Dr. Ferris, Jensen Ackles. I doubt I’ll ever be able to forget that case. He was released from, what was it, Franklin Institution, a couple years ago?”

The woman chuckled softly, “The Franciscan, and yes, but more of an unsanctioned self-discharge.”

Misha Collins smiled, “It was good to see that one work out as well as it has, with the things that man went through, it’s remarkable how far he’s come. But this isn’t just a social call, is it? Something’s happened.”

There was a pause and Dr. Ferris replied, “Yes, I’m hoping that you might be able to look into it, unofficially. You worked on the original case, and of all them, I think you understood the situation best. It’s bad, and I believe the police are wrong. Jensen’s come a long way – what with the way he was treated for most his life, what he was forced to do – he’s an amazing man. I see him at least once a week, sometimes twice, and I know he wouldn’t do that, not to Jared.”

“Dr. Ferris, what’s going on? You mentioned Jared, that’s Jared Padalecki, right? The one from my case, the boy that Ackles - ”

“What Jensen did then, the way he was, it was beyond his control and his comprehension. For nearly twenty years, what those people did to him, treating him as nothing more than an animal, forcing him to - ”

Misha cut in, “Doctor, please, I’m on your side, Jared’s and Jensen’s. Now, what’s happened?”

“God, I’m sorry. I guess I’m a bit defensive. They just won’t listen to me. Jensen and Jared are together. No matter how badly it started for them, now they are the most sickeningly adorable couple I know, absolutely devoted to each other. But the police believe that Jensen attacked Jared, like the way Morgan trained him to.”

“What does Jared say?”

“That’s just it, they’re both missing. No one’s seen them for a few days, either at school or at work. Jensen’s friend Chris actually called the police. Jensen hadn’t shown up for work for a couple of days, but Chris wasn’t worried at first, Jensen’s been a bit unsettled lately,” 

She paused as if considering where the confidentiality line lay between being a doctor and being a friend. With a heavy sigh, she continued.

“We’ve been giving Jensen a lot of latitude lately, helping him work through balancing things that he has to do with what he wants to do and the things he’s promised to do. That’s why we didn’t realize anything was wrong at first, until Chris checked their apartment. It was a mess, torn apart and blood was found, Jared’s type. They believe that Jensen went on a rampage, and that he – Jared. They think Jared may be dead.”

“Doctor, I don’t mean to be insensitive, but you should know that I’ve read Jensen’s file and seen the evidence of what he’s capable of. I believe that at least two other opinions felt that rehabilitation was unlikely and that long-term incarceration and treatment was his only chance for that. And yet, less than two years later, he’s out and living with one of his victims. You said that Jensen’s been having difficulties adjusting, are you sure that it isn’t possible that something happened to tip him over the edge?”

“Possible, of course, but it my professional opinion, unlikely. I’ve treated a lot of patients over the years, but Jensen falls into a category all his own. There may have been tendencies present at an early age, but he wasn’t in any sort of treatment at that time. Over the years, given the conditions and environment Jensen developed, grew up in, he does display certain sociopathic attributes. But there is also a strength that they didn’t strip from him. And he has Jared. I believe that Jared’s been key to bringing Jensen back to us, that boy knows how to handle Jensen, even at his worst. Agent Collins, Jared is the last person that Jensen would hurt. Something else has happened to those boys, and no one on the Investigation Team is even looking at other possibilities.”

“All right, let me make a few phone calls, ask around. Do you have the contact information for the detective in charge?”

Misha wrote quickly as the doctor read off the information.

“Okay, I can’t promise anything, they may not talk to me, and I can’t pull the FBI card at this point without making it official. I’ll be in touch, Doctor Ferris.”

“Sam, please, and thank you. Agent Collins.”

“Misha. Sam, you’re welcome. Take care and let me know if you hear anything else.”  
After hanging up, Misha made good on his promise, and called the detective in charge, Sterling Brown. Dr. Ferris – Sam – had been remarkably thorough in her report, and there wasn’t much more to it that Brown relayed. He confirmed that they’d considered the possibility of violence against both the boys, but there wasn’t any evidence of the presence of anyone else in the apartment. Not even the hint of forced entry.

“Given the history,” Brown seemed a bit embarrassed to admit that the history was a consideration, “And the evidence at the apartment, or rather the lack of anything else than what it looks like, our working theory is that Ackles became violent and beat Padalecki to the point that he’s incapacitated and unable to contact anyone for help.”

“Dr. Ferris seems to believe that Ackles is better, that he’s changed. And with regards to Jared Padalecki, Ackles is the last person that would be a threat to him.”

”I know, I interviewed her personally, and she is definitely a believer. And I’ve also seen some of the videos of Ackles when he was Morgan’s Mutt that are floating around. They’re still popping up on You Tube, you know. You can’t tell me that just a few years later, the – the _man_ in those videos has changed so much. I’ve got all the sympathy in the world for what happened to Ackles when he was a kid, but the creature he became, like a rabid dog, is vicious and unpredictable. He’s not responsible for it, but he’s gotta be put down nonetheless, for the good of everyone else. And hopefully we’re not too late to save Padalecki.”

“I appreciate the candor, Detective. Please keep me posted on the progress of your investigation and I’ll let you know if I find anything that might help.”

Misha hung up his phone and began sifting through the facts of the case, the conjectures, and his own opinions. He couldn’t disagree with most of what Sterling Brown had to say, and given the facts, he agreed that the operating theory was the most likely one. So, if he were Ackles, where might he have taken Jared Padalecki if he’d decided to step off into the abyss? Odds were that he would be very close to returning to the mindless creature he once was, and probably looking for something known and familiar.

Tomorrow, he’d take a trip out to Morgan’s compound. To his knowledge, the property had been tied up in the courts ever since Morgan’s conviction, so it would be deserted. Sure it was the site of the most painful experiences of the young man’s life, but conversely, might also represent shelter and refuge if he was on the run. It couldn’t hurt to check, anyway.

[ ](http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/359/2080)

“Holy CRAP! That was something. Man, he just tore into him. I ain’t never seen nothing like it. Welton musta seen Fight Club one too many times if he thought he was good enough.”

Jensen knelt in silence, barely listening as Gerard regurgitated the fight yet again, like a stuck record ever since they left the compound. They hadn’t bothered to put the hood back on him but everything else was locked in place, and every bounce in the road jerked on his aching joints. They’d not removed the mask from his face either, and it felt glued to his skin by sweat and god knows what else that may have slipped in between during the fight. And the smell was pungent, heady and like a wet penny, it was another sense memory of days he thought long past. He shivered and not from the cold, but it was enough to draw Olsson’s attention. He scowled and turned back to stare down the road, snapping at Gerard.

“Really, Jerry, enough already."

“Sure, but our boy sure shut up that crew of Welton’s. I picked up two grand off them, stupid trust fund brats. Pretty funny how they had to walk their boy outta there, tails between their legs, guess they weren’t ready to run with the big dogs, huh Mutt?”

“Seriously, just shut the fuck up.”

“Geez Ty, what flew up your ass?”

Olsson didn’t answer and pointedly stared out the window. The rest of the trip was made in silence and once they pulled around the circular driveway and parked at the back entrance, Olsson told Gerard to go ahead and call it a night.

“But what about the Mutt?”

Olsson sneered, “I can handle him, he’s too sore to try anything, even if he forgot we got his bitch boyfriend.”

“Yeah all right, sounds good, Mikey wanted a play-by-play anyway. See ya tomorrow.”

Gerard walked off whistling as Olsson worked on releasing the clips that secured Jensen in the van.

“Figured you’d had enough of his shit.” Olsson muttered. Jensen looked up in surprise as the man helped him ease forward from his uncomfortable crouch in the van. He motioned Jensen to sit on van’s floor in the open doorway and removed the mask. Jensen took a deep breath of fresh air appreciatively.

“Now, you going to try anything if I leave the chains off?” Jensen shook his head slowly, and let the other man help him to his feet. After a couple of fumbling steps, Jensen was allowed to move on his own, and neither man uttered another word the rest of the way down to the basement.

It was only as Olsson unlocked the door to Jensen’s room that he spoke again, “You did what you had to tonight, just hang on to that, keep going, and it’ll work out as best it can. Ya hear me?”

He waited until Jensen acknowledged with a nod before continuing, “Okay, get cleaned up and hit the sack. I left a couple pills for you in the bathroom; they’ll help with the pain. There’s some ice in there too. Sleep in tomorrow morning, and we’ll start training again in the afternoon.”

[ ](http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/359/4826)

Special Agent Misha Collins strolled around the pathways of the former survivalist compound, periodically poking his head in unlocked buildings and confirming the security of padlocks on others. The crisp spring air was fresh and the sounds of the forest soothing, all-in-all an idyllic setting, if it weren’t for the memories he attached to the place.

_Gun drawn, Misha pushed the thick metal door open of the windowless building that lay at the rear of the arena. The task force was completing their round up of Morgan’s people. At once, his senses were assaulted by the stench and noises and visions of the abuse they’d been told to expect. But nothing could have prepared him for this. To the side, three small, barred cells stretched the width of building. Only one appeared to be occupied, by a teenaged boy who cringed naked in the back corner of his cell, dirty and bruised, his eyes staring at Misha, at once terrified and hopeful._

_Across from him, several cages of various sizes were stacked against the wall. He scanned over them, noting the various animals scurrying around, howling and chattering in agitation, the cacophony of sounds grating on his nerves. Based on what he knew of their treatment and training, most would end up being put down. He’d nearly turned away, ready to put the doomed creatures out of his mind as the boy in the cell was of more immediate concern, when he realized that the large cage at the bottom of the pile held a human occupant. Barely fitting in the cage, the man knelt practically in half with his legs spread wide to accommodate his body between them. Soiled by the excrements from the cages above and heaven knew what else, his eyes stared up at Misha as if he doubted what he was seeing and his fingers clenched desperately the metal grating of the cage that surrounded him. Dark chestnut brown hair, long and unkempt, framed his face. Mentally matching the face before him with the smiling face in the photo they’d received from anxious parents, he started forward, relieved that they’d found the boy alive._

_“Jared, I’m with the FBI. Hang on just a bit longer, and I’ll have you out of there.”_

_As Misha rushed towards the cage, past another pen on the opposite wall he hadn’t noticed before, he was startled by a screeching howl that came from the depths of a dark corner. A flash of movement, and a body was flying towards him to crash up against the thick bars of the pen. Misha stumbled and fell backwards in his instinctive retreat and ended staring up at the face of what could only be Morgan’s Mutt, who growled and grasped for him through the bars of his pen, his eyes wild and angry, fingers curled claw-like in their attempts to reach him._

_“Easy boy, easy,” Misha implored as he scooched back crab-like, even though he knew that the creature couldn’t reach him. Guiltily, he regretted the brief flash he had of the fate of the animals in the cages as he considered the fate of the poor man in the pen._

Misha shook his head as he recalled his first and only encounter with Mutt – Jensen Ackles. He found it hard to reconcile that memory with the idea of a fully functional human being interacting in society successfully. Of course, on the other hand, the idea that ‘Jensen’ might have gone bat-shit crazy tracked easily enough in his mind.

Having completed his roundabout check, Misha was certain that neither Jensen nor Jared were holed up anywhere on the compound. But he was also convinced that the property wasn’t as deserted as it should be. Fresh tracks from a number of different vehicles striped the dirt roads that wound around the area. Some buildings weren’t as layered in dirt and dust as they should be given the duration of their supposed abandonment, and in fact showed signs of recent occupation by more than just drifters or fugitive crazy wild boys. And the arena that sat at the center of the compound was clean, too clean; no leaves or twigs or other natural debris littered the floor and the small puddles of water that lingered in the depressions weren’t muddied by dirt or ringed in algae as would be expected had they been from recent rains. It was almost as if the arena had been hosed out.

Misha sifted the facts and circumstances, and his gut instinct was telling him something was going on here. There were a lot of possibilities ranging from drugs or weapons running to domestic terrorism to something other as he glanced at the arena, His gut had a pretty decent track record so his hunch should buy him at least a week of round-the-clock surveillance, long enough for something to break loose if there was anything here. Pulling out his phone, he began making calls.

[ ](http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/359/3000)

Jared was out of his mind with boredom. If the daily filming sessions were any indication, by the dates on the newspapers, he’d been here for at least four days. At least they left the papers with him so he had something to occupy his time, at least every one but yesterday’s. That one, he caught the start of the headline at the bottom of the page before the guy left the room with it, “Local Man Disappears…” He’d left a word search game booklet instead, but no pencil so he had to work them out in his mind.

And not for the first or fifth or hundredth time, he wondered why he’d been taken. His parents were well off but not so much that he’d be worth much in ransom. He interned at a public access children’s show, for crying out loud, not exactly a hot bed of illicit activity. So he must have seen something, somewhere that he shouldn’t have, but from what he remembered from the movies, he should be dead if that were the case, not that he was complaining. And for easily the thousandth time, he wondered how Jensen was doing, if he was coping, or if this would be the trigger that set him off. He yelled in frustration, not that it did anything but make him hoarse. His captors visited only twice a day, every other time for the taping with the paper, and each time to trade out his bucket for a clean one, refill his water, and leave some sort of meal. He’d already read today’s paper front to back, twice, so he lay back on his bunk and began counting to pass some more time.

He’d gotten up to 6,367 when the scrape of the door opening alerted him that dinner had arrived.

“Stay down.”

Jared sighed, same as every other time, one came in, ordered him to stay down while the other stood guard outside the door, taking the dirty bucket when it was passed to him and passing the thermos back in. Only this time, the guard took the bucket outside along with the thermos. Jared heard the splash of water filling the thermos, then the guard was walking back in the cell. Jared took a quick look out the door and saw nothing. Taking a deep breath, he flung himself off the bunk and on top of the man as he leaned over to set the thermos down.

The element of surprise allowed him to slam the man’s head against the wall, he didn’t go down immediately but his disorientation gave Jared the edge he needed to deliver another blow to the kidnapper’s midsection dropping him to the ground as Jared flew out the door pulling it shut behind him.

“Take that Fucker!”

But now that he was out, he had no idea which way to go, either corridor looking like it went to nowhere. Mentally flipping a coin, Jared turned to his right and started running. After a few more turns and long stretches of hallway, he saw a set of stairs leading up to another level. He had a pretty fair idea that he was below ground level so up seemed to make sense. He followed them up to the next and only other level. A small window in the door allowed him to get a peek of what lay immediately on the other side of the door, but not much farther. Leaning against the wall, he stared through the window for any sort of movement while he caught his breath. Somewhere on the other side of the door he heard a phone ringing, maybe from left of the door. So right it was, he’d push through the door, flip right, and run… Phone, ringing, oh shit. Jared pushed the door so hard that it slammed the wall as he twisted through and turned right.

“Hey! Stop right there!”

Jared couldn’t help his reaction as he automatically turned towards the voice. He caught a glimpse of the man that had yelled, enough to see he wasn’t wearing a mask, had bleached blonde hair, and a thick scar over his right eyebrow. And he’d caught enough of a glimpse to understand the full ramifications so he turned in the opposite direction and ran like hell through the large warehouse. He saw another door next to a group of large loading bays with rolling doors, the window bright with sunlight. He pushed the exit bar on the door, relieved as it pushed open. Behind him, he could hear the man yelling, his boots pounding on the ground. Jared kept running, trying to increase the distance between them. He glanced back over his shoulder, relieved that he was outdistancing the pursuit, the warehouse receding, He turned back and up ahead on the road, he saw a Ford Bronco driving towards him. Frantically, he began waving his hands and yelling as the truck slowed down.

“Man, am I glad to see you!” Jared bent down, breathing hard, “Call 911, I’ve been kidnapped, held at that warehouse,” Jared turned to point at the building, “That one, Alistair Inc.” 

He turned back, and saw the oddly shaped gun in the man’s hand pointed at him. Jared cursed his luck as he backed away to run in another direction but too slow as the man fired and 50,000 volts jolted his nervous system, dropping him to the ground, convulsing from the pulse.

“Fucking Hell, Lenny, what’s going on?” The Bronco driver demanded of the blond, Mike, as he ran up.

“He got the drop on Mike, got out of his cell.”

“How’d he get the drop on Mike? Where were you?”

“Um, I had a call, the kid had been behaving, didn’t think it would be a problem -”

“You didn’t think is the problem. I told you, both of you go each time and this is why. Get him in the back of the truck.”

The pain of the taser was excruciating, far worse than the shock collar he’d worn while Morgan’s captive, but at least it was dissipating, as Mike lifted him up from his under his arms and dragged him over to the vehicle. Lenny spoke again as he fumbled with wrestling Jared into the bed of the truck.

“I’m sorry Ty, but at least we got him back right?”

‘Ty’ stepped over to lift Jared’s legs up and Jared’s heart stuttered as he heard the man’s reply, his own thoughts spoken out loud, cold and stark.

“Not me you should apologize to, it’s the kid, you probably just got him killed. And the boss ain’t going to be too happy when it costs him a quarter mil.”

Nothing more was said as the Bronco made the quick trip up to the warehouse, and Jared was dragged back inside, this time to be secured to a hard chair. Ty disappeared from his field of vision momentarily and returned, flicking air bubbles from a syringe. Jared shook his head in protest as the syringe was plunged into his neck, its contents released into his bloodstream.

“Go get Mikey out,” Ty ordered Lenny as he flipped his phone open and dialed a number from the memory.

“Sir, we have a complication.” Jared cringed as he listened to Ty describe him like an engine malfunction to whomever was on the other side of the call. As his mind started to feel fuzzy, he wondered if he would ever wake again.

“Of course sir, but the kid’s already put some of the pieces together. I’m not sure we’ll still have his full cooperation unless we can provide assurances, which I’m not sure he’ll believe.” Ty paused, listening to his boss.

“Yes sir, I do. Given these developments, I think he would be more effective and easier to control at the ranch. The room is large enough to accommodate both and escape will be less likely due to the seclusion of the property. I’ve had my concerns about splitting our resources, and now there’s really no reason to.”

That was the last Jared heard as the drug did its job and he drifted into unconsciousness.

[ ](http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/359/4826)

When at last Jared woke, he was laying on the floorboard of a slowing vehicle and buried under a heavy blanket. As the vehicle jerked to a stop, the door opened near his head, the blanket lifted, and he was pulled bodily from the large pickup truck and leaned back against it. Squinting against the afternoon sun, he struggled to regain his balance, still groggy from the drug and his hands useless as they were cinched tightly together by a strip of thin plastic. Ty, who was clearly the leader here, walked up to him, his lips pressed together in an angry line while the other two men, Mike and Lenny, waited nervously nearby.

“You two, get out of here and stay outta my sight for awhile!” Ty barked, and the two men rushed off, seemingly happy to comply.

“So Jared, you’ve royally fucked this up. Not that I blame you, in fact I'm kinda glad to see you’ve got some backbone, but then I guess you’d have to. Keep your head down and your mouth shut, if you wanna live.”

With that warning, Jared was pulled into the foyer of the large mansion he’d caught only a glimpse of during his brief moments of coherency.

Down a long hallway, he was hauled into an imposingly furnished den. Behind the large lacquer desk sat a thin, rather unremarkable man, at least until the man looked up and Jared found himself subjected to the intense scrutiny of the man’s piercing gaze. Not breaking his study of Jared as if Jared were some insect he intended to stick pins in and mount to a board, the man stood up and moved lazily around the desk and towards him. As he drew near, Jared wanted to back away with each step. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when the man stopped and stared at Jared coldly, nearly eye to eye.

“So you’re the beauty that tried to tame my beast.” The bizarre comment came out with a hiss.

“I – uh – what? I don’t understand,” Jared trailed off in confusion.

“Mr. Padalecki, I’ll keep this simple. Originally, we would never have met, you would have served your purpose and gone home, I’d have the return on my investment, and we’d all would have lived happily ever after, for the most part. But now your actions have created a situation where I stand to lose nearly two million dollars. I don’t take that lightly. Now, all I require from you is your continued good behavior and obedience. As long as that happens, you live and my beast performs.”

“Shall I take him down now, sir?” Ty spoke up, drawing the man’s intense gaze to himself for which Jared was relieved and grateful.

“Yes, Mr. Olsson. I expect you to manage this _complication_ and keep it from becoming a disaster. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes sir. This won’t become a problem.”

“See that it doesn’t.” With that final command, the man turned abruptly and returned to his desk, his attention returned to his interrupted task, the dismissal clear.

“C’mon kid. Got someone that’ll be happy to see you, once he gets over being pissed.” Olsson murmured as he pulled Jared out of the room and towards the back of the mansion.

“Pissed? Who are you talking about?” Jared asked as the man lead him through the house. Olsson ignored the question as they made a turn down another hallway, the push on his shoulder urging Jared to move faster. Jared was working up his own fury and flexed his fingers, trying to clear the tingling where the plastic cut into his wrists. He wondered if he should make a break for it and how far he’d get. Not knowing where he was or how far out of the city they’d traveled – and if the quick look around he’d gotten when he first got out of the truck was any indication, it was pretty far – it was a question of the frying pan or the fire. But before he could make a decision, they’d stopped at a small alcove outside of what appeared to be a pretty heavy-duty door. Olsson pulled out a jackknife from his back pocket and gestured.

“Okay, here we are, hold out your hands and I’ll get that tie off you.”

Jared complied and considered how easy it might be to swing his fist up and catch the man off guard, but as if Olsson read his mind, one hand wrapped tightly around Jared’s bound wrists while his other brandished the knife.

“I got a pretty good idea what you’re thinking, so get it out of your head. You might be able to take me down, and you might be able to get out of this house, and you might put up a pretty good run, but you won’t get far. And what would happen to your friend in there won’t be pretty because if you’re dead or gone, he isn’t gonna do what he’s supposed too, and he’ll be next. You boys are going to be here for a while, how bad it goes is up to you and Jensen.”

“Jensen!”

“Yeah, ‘fraid so. Look, I think you’re the more level headed one here -”

Jared scoffed, “Ya think?” Olsson chuckled and shook his head.

“I know, he’s not what I expected.” Olsson paused and appeared to be weighing certain things for himself, before he continued. “I’ll be honest here, this isn’t what I signed up for, and I’m not sure how it’ll all shake out. I’m doing what I can for you guys and maybe there’s an end in sight. I don’t know. When we get in there, Jensen’s gonna be pissed, you were never supposed to be here. Another five days and you woulda been sleeping in your own bed.”

“But what about Jensen? What’s your boss want with him?”

“I’ll let him explain, I’m just telling you, like I said before, keep your mouth shut and your head down. And keep Jensen under control. Hell, I’ve said too much already, just keep each other safe.”

The man said no more as he stood in front of the keypad, his fingers quickly pressing out the code, and then pushed the door open. He motioned Jared to precede him and then pushed the door shut behind them.

Jared heard the thuds and grunts of fighting first, as he looked down to the level below at what appeared to be a fully equipped gym. The smell of sweat further confirmed what he already guessed was Jensen’s purpose, and his stomach tightened nervously. A heavy thud followed by a sharp cry echoed up toward them, and Jared rushed down. In the back of the large room sat an octagon cage a large man lay on the floor, and Jared felt some of the tension he’d been feeling for days wash away in relief as he took in the towering form of his lover.

Jensen looked up in reaction to Jared’s hurried rush down the stairs and the broad smile that brightened his face mirrored Jared’s own. But then it clouded as the implications hit him and he stormed to the gate set in the side of the cage, wrenching it open. Rushing through, Jensen headed straight at Olsson, yelling angrily.

“You promised! You fucking promised!” He growled as he flew through the air.

A flurry of activity followed as two other men ran over to stall the rampaging fighter. But they were too late to stop the first fist that flew and connected with Olsson’s jaw. Olsson stumbled but maintained his balance against that hit and the next struck only air as Jensen was yanked back and restrained. The downed fighter quickly joined the other two men and Jensen was pushed backwards until he was penned against the side of the cage, struggling gamely against the overwhelming force.

“What’s he doing here? You said you’d let him go! He’s not s’posed to be here.” Jensen spat and snarled in frustration. His arms held fast against the grating, Jensen continued to buck and kick. When a vicious knee jab caught one of his captors in the groin, Jensen nearly broke free as the restraining grasps weakened. Then it was like open season had been declared, and the other men began their own vicious assaults while their compatriot lay groaning on the ground.

Jared started to rush over but was pushed forcefully to the side as a loud report rent the air. Everything came to a dead halt as powder rained down from the ceiling coating them all in a light film of chalk-like flakes.

“Everyone – settle down!” Olsson’s voice was commanding, and the gun pointing upwards was even more demanding. No one moved as Olsson slipped the gun back into its holster and brushed his hand through his hair. He strode over to the melee, stepping over the man on the floor , and stood face to face with Jensen. His voice was deathly calm as he stared Jensen in the eye, and leaned a forearm against his throat.

“You get that one for free but I won’t tolerate another. Everything woulda worked out exactly as we promised until your boyfriend decided to go on a walkabout. It’s done and nothing’s changed. You do what you’re supposed to and he lives. Are we crystal?”

Jensen made one last futile show of resistance, before staring back defiantly. He spoke, enunciating every syllable of his one word reply.

“What eh ver.” 

Jared snickered and relaxed, slumping back against the wall he’d landed on when Olsson pushed him away. Repeating his boyfriend’s phrase softly to himself, he chuckled again, then laughed, and as the adrenaline rush swept away, he continued to laugh, gulping for air between fits. As he dropped to sit on the ground laughing uncontrollably, tears began to flow driven by mirth, lack of air, and the stressful events of the past few days. At some point he was pulled up and Jensen was there, and his arms wound around him, directing him as they walked. Soothing words were breathed in his ear, _you’re okay, I’m fine, so happy to see you, love you_ , as he was pulled down onto a soft surface.

The breathy words smoothed into light kisses on his face, his tears lapped up in soothing caresses. Jared turned into his lover’s lips, opening his own to welcome Jensen’s questing tongue. He bit down gently and bucked up against impatient thrusts as he slipped his hands under Jensen’s shirt, and raked his nails down the sweaty flesh, feeling the toned muscles ripple beneath his fingers. Jensen moaned, mouthing along his neck before he bit down firmly on the corded juncture at his shoulder. Jared gasped as the flesh was worried between sharp teeth and his cock responded to the near painful onslaught of grinding hips, hard and demanding. 

“Yes,” he whispered his permission, and Jensen purred approvingly, the rumble tickling the sensitized flesh. Jensen grinned as he pulled away, and Jared caught a brief flash of the predator in his eyes before he was suddenly flipped over to his stomach, and pulled up on his hands and knees. His shirt was skimmed up his back, and Jensen alternately kissed, nipped, and licked the bare skin as his fingers worked Jared’s jeans open.

Jared spread his knees as Jensen slotted between and at the first moist lap on the cleft of his ass, Jared moaned and spread them as far as his pants would allow. He knew what an obscene picture he must present when he slid forward and down on his elbows, his back arching and thrusting his ass up for Jensen’s attentions. Reaching back with one hand, he began to stroke himself in time with Jensen’s laving which was becoming messier, noisier, and more erratic with each passing moment. The press of Jensen’s fingers joined his thick tongue by fingers as he worked Jared's hole, scissored it open. 

Slapping at his dick harder, Jared bucked back and forth, gasping as Jensen’s moans reverberated against his sensitive tissues. Suddenly, cool air brushed across his sopping hole when Jensen pulled back. But just as quickly, there was a rustle of jersey cloth behind and then the burning stretch as Jensen pushed in fast with a grunt, bottoming out so deep the rough scarring at the base of his cock dragged laboriously against a barely prepped rim like a knot. Jared bit off his scream at the rough entry even as his cock fattened and spurted long streaks of come on the mattress below while Jensen thrust out and in, over and over, fingers digging and squeezing divots into Jared’s hips. Finally, with one last brutal shove, he came, bellowing his release, nails breaking skin as he collapsed back on his heels, pulling Jared up with his motion and back forcefully on his cock, burying in deeper still, as Jared’s proffered a few more weak spurts.

For long minutes, there were no other sounds in the room but the heavy breathing of the two lovers. As the breaths evened into whispers, Jensen rolled down to his side, pulling Jared into the curve of his body. Jared snuggled into the cradle of Jensen’s embrace, reveling in the adoring contact that he’d been missing for days. Jensen had been quiet, talking only with the smooth caresses of his roaming hands, but there were many questions that Jared had, so he reluctantly broke the silence.

“Are you okay?”

“You kiddin? After that, I should be asking you.”

“Jensen, not what I meant. They’re making you fight, aren’t they?”

Jensen was quiet, for too long, before he finally nodded, his stubble gently burning the back of Jared’s neck.

“We’ll find a way out of this.” Jared clasped Jensen’s hand where it played with the hairs on his belly and squeezed assuredly. “We will.”

“Yeah,” Jensen affirmed, but he didn’t sound convinced.

[ ](http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/359/3085)

The next day passed with little change in the routine, even with the new resident trying to amuse himself on the equipment as Jensen was put through his paces. On one hand he was happy that Jared was here, safe with him instead of alone, imprisoned and at the mercy of Heyerdahl’s people. They could’ve killed him and Jensen wouldn’t have known until hours later, if ever. But now that Jared was here, where was the end of this? Jensen had already written himself off, but Jared used to have a future and now that was done. _Or maybe not_. He watched Jared move around the basement, studying the walls, stopping at random spots for no apparent reason, always looking and listening. He knew that Jared was trying to find a way out for them, and if anyone could do it, Jared would.

But the look in Jared’s eyes as he’d sparred was killing those hopes. It was the grimace on Jared’s face when he’d made some especially good hits, or the sad eyes when he put his opponent down hard, or the shake of his down-turned head when he crowed in victory – Jensen felt ashamed for each disappointment Jared must be feeling. It was becoming so much more difficult to find that piece of him that the Doc said was there, that Jared believed was there, at least he used to. So he tried, he tried because he had to, because otherwise, he’d lose the best thing that he had. That night, he clung tight to Jared, trying to say without words, that everything was okay, that he was okay.

As before, the next day when Olsson came down, Gerard and another guy that Jared had identified as Lenny were with him, with the familiar, now cleaned equipment in their hands. Jensen sighed, and pleaded with his eyes, hoping that Ty would understand and breathing a deep sigh of relief at his next instructions.

“Hey Lenny, get the kid, put him in lockdown.”

“Jens, what’s going on?” Jared had been walking over to join them when Olsson had first come into the basement. Judging by the expression on his face as he’d taken in what the men carried, and the shrug against Lenny’s fist gripping Jared’s shoulder, he wasn’t going to go easily.

“Jared, just go with, okay? It’s time for the next fight.” Jensen fisted his shirt and leaned close, whispering only loud enough for Jared to hear, “Don’t wan’cha ta see me like this, kay? Please?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, but I’ll go if that’s what you need. Just come back, promise me.” Jared pressed a kiss to his forehead, whispering one last demand, “Promise.”

“Promise.”

Jared gave him one last look and turned to walk to their room. Once the door closed, Jensen held out his hands, his head hanging low.

[ ](http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/359/2532)

Jared stuttered to his feet as the door opened. He had no way of telling time but he knew that it hadn’t been near long enough. Olsson's voice carried in from outside the room as Heyerdahl entered the room.

“Sir, I don’t think this is a good idea, Jensen -”

“Nonsense, the _pet_ will perform better with the added incentive. Besides, I’m sure Mr. Padalecki would appreciate the night out and the chance to see it in action.” The man smiled cruelly as Jared shook his head slowly in denial.

Olsson had followed Heyerdahl in and his scowl told of his feelings on the matter. He tossed a jacket to Jared and held out a pair cuffs.

“C’mon, let’s not make this any more difficult.”

Jared reluctantly shrugged his jacket on and held out his hands. The cuffs clicked in place and Olsson pushed him forward to follow Heyerdahl who had already departed.

Outside, Jared was ushered into a large black Humvee and tucked in between Lenny and Olsson. The drive was made in silence, which was fine by him, his thoughts a dark thundercloud of fury. He couldn’t deny that he wanted to be there, but he also worried about Jensen’s reaction, he’d seen his face, and at this fight was the last place Jensen wanted Jared to be. Heyerdahl was an asshole, playing cruel, sick games, and this could be a tipping point. And as they wound up a narrow mountain road, his heart sank as he recognized the landmarks to the likely destination. How had Jensen been holding it together? Morgan’s compound, of course, the place was perfectly suited for this type of thing and ever since Morgan’s operations had been brought down over three years ago, the place had been deserted. He had even visited it the past year, as part of his therapy, and it hadn’t been easy. He’d made the trip on his own and hadn’t told Jensen, when he’d seen the look of near-terror when he’d just made the mere suggestion. And now, he worried about the nightmarish memories this place held for Jensen, and to be returned to it under such similar circumstances, it was no wonder that his Jensen was barely holding it together.

The Humvee rolled to a stop in a large, field where parking had been setup and was already occupied by dozens of upscale vehicles. As he stepped out and looked around, Jared marveled at the vastness of the operation. Portable lighting dotted the compound as people walked the dirt paths, laughing and talking, without care. Others sat at quaint bistro style tables, enjoying drinks and food from served from small stands. The atmosphere was so festive and carefree that Jared wanted to scream at them but didn’t dare for fear of what might happen to Jensen. So he stood tense, let Olsson drape a large scarf over his wrists, and followed in silence as they strolled towards the arena, his heart racing with each step that brought them closer to the imposing structure. His heart raced as their feet beet a staccato beat up the concrete block steps that led to the spectators galleries and he barely kept his last meal down as they turned into one of the private alcoves and he turned and took in the prime view of the pit below.

Heyerdahl gestured to one of the seats in the front row of their alcove. 

“Take a seat. The first fight should begin soon, pet is in the second.” He smirked as he took his own, and continued a one-sided conversation as if Jared were an honored guest.

“This first fight, I expect will be won by the champion of that man over there.” He gestured across the arena at another alcove occupied by a small group. “Robert Wisdom, he’s beat me at this event for five years running. But this year, I think he’ll be rather surprised.”

One man of the group, as if sensing their attention, turned towards them. When he recognized Heyerdahl, he smiled knowingly and held up his drink in a silent toast before drinking it down. Heyerdahl returned the greeting, his own smile tight on his face.

“Yes, go ahead, Bob, let’s see who laughs last this time.”

Jared sunk down in his seat, seething and stung by the realization; he and Jensen had been ripped from their lives for nothing more the some fucked up rich and crazy’s whim to best a rival, and they were too insignificant to deserve any consideration from the privileged. Closing his eyes, he worked to try and shut everything out, as the lower galleries below were filling up, their talk and laughter growing from a low buzz to a discordant mass of sounds that chafed his nerves.

The sound of a gong announced the opening of the fights, and Jared sat up as two people entered the arena. One, a tall lithe woman, and the other, a huge mountain of a man. The audience cheered and clapped as another sound announced the start of the bout. It seemed to go on for hours and the brutality of it sickened him, the two fighters evenly matched. The man appeared to hold the advantage of brute strength, while the woman had the superior technical skills and speed. In the end, brute strength triumphed, and the woman was carried out on a stretcher. As Jared watched the victor strut around the circle, jeering at his audience, Jared looked at him with a new focus, this bruiser is who Jensen might soon be facing in a battle to the death.

But then the gong sounded again, and a lone man entered the arena, but not Jensen. Before Jared had a chance to wonder what was going on, a rhythmic stomping of feet began on the lower levels, and a chant rose and Jared gasped as he recognized the one word, repeated over and over, _Mutt – Mutt – Mutt_ , and every so often a woofing or bark would cut in. Then a commotion at the iron gate below – the gate that had somehow escaped Jared’s notice before now – and it was flung open and Jensen pushed through fighting against the snare around his neck as he thrashed and snarled so much like the creature of years past. In a rerun of nightmares that Jared still fought, the snared slipped free, the gate slammed shut, and Mutt – Jensen – was leaping across the distance to meet his opponent in a horrific clash.

Unlike the first bout, it was clear that Jensen was the superior fighter and also had the galleries on his side. This fight would be over much quicker than the previous one. Or at least that’s what Jared thought, until Jensen’s field of vision raised up and into the galleries, and Jared could pinpoint the exact moment that Jensen recognized. He faltered, and then fell as his opponent swept a rounding kick that struck the back of Jensen’s knees. And the battle turned, as Jensen seemed to be holding back, not landing as many blows and taking that many more. The crowd expressed their displeasure, taunting and booing.

“What is he doing?” Heyerdahl demanded as he rose to his feet to lean against the railing. Across the arena, Wisdom raised another toast, and lifted his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug as he laughed.

“Sir, I tried to warn you. He’s not the same man as he was then. Bringing Padalecki here was a bad idea.”

Heyerdahl looked back at Olsson in irritation and then back to the pit, and then at Jared.

“Of course, that’s what’s needed. Stand up.” He gestured with his hand as the fight continued to dissolve below.

“ _Stand up_!” Jared stood as he looked down, cringing as Jensen caught his eye, looking lost before another hit buckled him over.

“Beat him.” Jared stumbled back at the command as Olsson questioned the command.

“ _Do it_!” Jared looked at Olsson and then down at slaughter below, Jensen’s eyes always finding him as he’d fall and get back up, to face another blow. Why didn’t he fight back? Didn’t he remember what would happen if he lost?

“Lenny, hold him.” 

Jared stared at Olsson as he removed his jacket, and started rolling up his sleeves. Lenny grabbed his elbows tight from behind, and forced his cuffed wrists down below his waist. It was like some clichéd mob drama, the poor sap getting worked over by the mafia enforcer. Jared started to shake his head, Jensen would go crazy, be uncontrollable if they did this. He began to say no, Olsson needed understand. And then he got it, he understood, _Jensen would go crazy_. And Olsson laid into him, the punches hard on his stomach, over and over again, bending him over each time and pulled back up each time just to face another. But it was working as the crowd responded approvingly with what was going on in the pit. Olsson landed one last hit, and then turned away in disgust, as Lenny shoved him back in his seat, doubled over, coughing and groaning in his pain.

It was over before he realized as he was pulled up and supported by Olsson in the long, agonizing walk back to the ‘Vee. Heyerdahl was laughing and trading jokes with Lenny so Jared knew Jensen had won, but he worried at the price.

“You took that good, kid.” Olsson spoke low, Heyerdahl too caught up in the victory to notice. “He’s gonna need you tonight.”

He didn’t say anything further as Jared was hustled into the back seat for the long trip back.

That night, Jared held Jensen tight, trying to pull him back. They both were hurting physically, and emotionally, Jensen was a toe hold from falling off the edge. Jared soothed and reassured until both he and Jensen were worn out and fell into restless sleep.

[ ](http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/359/4826)

Misha Collins picked up his phone noting the caller as Richard Speight. Richard was one of the men assigned to the Morgan Compound surveillance detail, and after four days of squat, he wondered if they finally hit paydirt.

“Hey Richard, how’s it going?”

“Meesh, looks like we finally got something. Bunch of activity last night but pretty much cleared out today.”

“Rich, it’s afternoon, why am I just hearing about this now?”

“I know, kids on the detail just figured they were there to snap pictures and didn’t let anybody know until I showed up for my shift and they handed over the memory stick. I left them out there and I’m driving in with what we got.”

“Shit, okay I’ll see you when you get here.”

It was a long hour, waiting for Richard to deliver the pictures and an even longer night staring at every shot looking for some sort of sign. It was clear that the site was being used for some sort of underground fight club, but beyond that, there were no signs of anything else illegal.

Still, this was a huge coincidence, underground fighting at Morgan’s compound, and Jensen, as much a defacto member of the fight club as any trained fighter. His gut was telling him that it was all connected, that the Investigation’s prevailing theory of the crime was wrong and Sam Ferris was right. But his gut feeling wouldn’t be enough to order an entire task force to storm the arena. He needed more so he kept staring at the pictures, shot after shot. At 3 AM, two days after he’d received the flash drive, he found it.

“So, Jackson, wanna tell me what’s been going on up at JD Morgan’s old place?”

“Don’t know what ya mean. Nothing I know of.”

Detective Sterling Brown circled around the nervous thug he’d recognized from the photos SA Collins had brought with him. An independent fist for hire, Jackson was their best lead to finding Jared Padalecki. He’d been surprised when the agent was waiting for his arrival, first thing. The man was rumpled, his long coat wrinkled, and tie askew, as he excitedly laid some printed photos on his desk, while waving the flash drive in the air. But as he studied the pictures, he’d been even more surprised to identify Jared in a couple, the shots were grainy but once you knew what you were looking for, there he was standing head above shoulders. Sterling had ID’ed Jackson from others on the drive and had him picked up as their best lead. Now he thrust those pictures down on the table.

“You want to re-think that answer?”

Sterling rejoined Misha in the observation room. 

“We’ve got just a few hours before this fight starts, I’m going to start making some calls. Not much time to put a strike force together. So this Mutt guy, you think it’s Ackles?”

“99.9% certain, and I don’t think he’s your perp either. Something else is going on here.”

“Well, we’re not going to take any chances, I’ve said it before, and it really sounds like the guy’s gone darkside just like I said he might.”

“I’m not asking you to take any chances, just keep an open mind.”

[ ](http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/359/5111)

The crowd was on their feet, screaming and stomping in bloodthirsty anticipation of the final matchup. Jared was sixk with dread, once again forced into attendance, but he doubted that it would be a problem this night. Ever since the last bout, Jensen had been drawing away from Jared and into himself. He was seeing more of Mutt in his eyes and his actions, and less of his Jensen, and he didn’t know how to stop the tragic descent.

Once again the gong sounded, as the ‘referee’ went over the rules – none – and reminded the gallery in hushed tones that this was _a spectacle rarely seen in the modern world, a true test of gladiators, a fight to the death!_ And with that pronouncement, the gong sounded twice as the audience gasped and creaking metal announced he arrival of the fighters.

Jensen shoved through the gate, snarling and eager, and for the first time, he wasn’t wearing the hideous Lector mask, his features fully displayed for the first time. The crowd cheered their approval and then their attention was drawn as Wisdom’s fighter ran into the arena. The two men circled around at first, darting but not engaging, and Jared thought that maybe Jensen was more in control, and then his hope sank as Jensen rushed his opponent, his face twisted inhumanly as he howled.

A howl tore from the compound, and Misha shivered as he swept the compound for any sign of Jared Padalecki. He knew he wasn’t alone, pictures had been distributed and other sharp eyes were looking from other angles, but he probably had the best chance of picking him out of the crowd.

“See him?” Sterling asked

“Not yet.”

“Okay, then, well we could always pull them in for trespassing.”

Misha chuckled, “A task force this size? Bit of overkill ya think?”

“Got give my boys some fun for their trou -”

“Wait, I think…” Misha pushed the button on his walkie, speaking quietly, “Hey Rich, take a look at the top gallery, should be directly in your line of vision, is that him?”

The reply came back after a low whistle, “Confirmed, subject is on the top spectator level, northern most section. Meesh, he’s in there with Heyerdahl, Christopher Heyerdahl!”

“Damn, we struck the mother lode. Okay all everybody, move in slowly, wait for the signal.”

Jared screamed as Jensen was beat down to the ground, but he leapt right back up, his endurance better than Otto’s, the name chanted a few times during the bout. But the times Jensen let Otto grab hold, he had difficulty escaping as Otto’s superior strength prevailed. The fight was proving to be as vicious and frightening and thrilling as billed, and had shaped up to be a final test of strength and endurance. Technique had long taken flight as the two men brutalized each other to pulp.

As the fight continued, suddenly there was a shot, and then shouts, and people began to scurry from their seats as men and women in vests and jackets identifying them as police or FBI swarmed the stands. In no time and with little resistance, most were taken into custody, including Heyerdahl and Olsson.

The compound had descended into near silence without the roar of the crowd. Now only low murmurs and the grunts from the fighters in the pit disturbed the relative peace.

Sterling called down to the fighters.

“Stop! Police! Lay down on the ground!”

Otto slowed and looked up, realizing for the first time, that something was amiss. At that moment, Jensen landed a hard blow, roaring, he landed another and Otto went down. Still Jensen kept at his adversary, pummeling the man without mercy. In just a few moments, several things happened.

“ACKLES! ON THE GROUND! WE WILL SHOOT!”

“DON’T SHOOT! DO NOT TAKE THE SHOT!”

“Jensen, please, it’s over!”

“Sir! I have a clean shot, do I have a go?”

A shot rang out, loud, louder than anything, and every eye turned towards the upper level as Jared yelled again in the sudden shock-still in activity. On the ground, Ty Olsson, in handcuffs, lay sprawled on top of the FBI agent who’d fired his weapon, the shot harmlessly diverted up and away.

“Jens, SON!

Jared screamed again, “SON,” and Jensen responded, looking up his hand still grabbing Otto’s shirt, and finally noticing the changes, the quiet, the guns, Jared staring down, his hands free.”

“Jensen, Son.”

Jensen stared at his hands, bloody and bruised, dropping Otto to the ground, as he looked back to Jared, his eyes clearer but sadder than they’d been for days. 

“Brother.” He whispered back.

“Fighter.” Jared finished the litany, proudly proclaiming, “Fighter.”

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Written for spn_reversebang based on nanoks’s art prompt located [HERE](http://spnreversemod.livejournal.com/pics/catalog/1998/51300). Be sure to checkout the wonderful art she created for this story on her journal, [Art Masterlist](http://nanoks.livejournal.com/219401.html).
> 
> And major thanks to SPN-J2FAN for her awesome beta work, always so encouraging, reading through my paragraphs and zipping them back in record time, with such positive and constructive commentary. I only wish I’d been more organized and timely with some of these sections so that she had more time with them to work her magic.
> 
> [Masterpost](http://maryjo24.livejournal.com/9646.html) on LiveJournal


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